


Seat 87C

by othersideofthis (hikaru)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Everyone is handsy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Stuck on a train, Superstition, and Sidney is superstitious as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru/pseuds/othersideofthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is a terrible idea,” Sidney mutters to himself as he tries to get comfortable.  “When something awful happens to this train, you’ll see, it’ll be all your fault.”</p><p>Evgeni laughs, big and bright, and heads turn.  Laughter isn’t usually what happens whenever someone challenges Sidney on his favorite seat.  “Nothing bad happen to train, Sidney, calm down,” he says, patting the other man on the shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seat 87C

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a response to an AU fic prompt on Tumblr and very quickly got out of hand. This is slightly edited and expanded from the version floating about on Tumblr.
> 
> Thanks to Shoshanah for the prompt, which was "the train is stopped in the middle of nowhere for some reason AU".

Evgeni has barely situated himself into his seat, knees digging uncomfortably into the chair in front of him, when someone taps him on the shoulder.  “You should probably move; you’re in Crosby’s seat,” says a man passing by en route to his own seat.

“Huh?” Evgeni is not nearly awake enough for this, but he’s already almost out of coffee, and the morning isn’t getting any better.  He doesn’t know who this Crosby character is, and he doesn’t care.  “Is my seat.  Have ticket.”  He goes to reach for his ticket, to show proof that he’s in the right seat, and jams his elbow into the window for his troubles.

“Whatever, kid, it’s your funeral.”  The man shrugs and moves on, and Evgeni thinks that’s going to be the last of it, but as he’s rubbing his sore elbow and cursing under his breath, another person pauses next to him.

"You’re in Sidney’s seat,” an older woman says.  “Sidney isn’t going to like this at all.”  And so it goes; as the other passengers file in, people keep stopping to warn him about the dangers of sitting in the mysterious Sidney Crosby’s seat.

By now, the coffee’s gone and Evgeni just wants to get out of Pittsburgh on time.  He’s muttering darkly at his empty travel mug when a man clears his throat in the aisle.  “What?” he snaps.

“You’re in my seat,” says the much talked-about Sidney.  He’s tall and dark-haired and very intense looking. Evgeni  understands why people might easily give up their seat for Sidney; he’s got a face that makes it hard to say _no_.  He would feel intimidated if he could be bothered to find the energy for that sort of self-preservation.  Sidney stands awkwardly in the aisle, alternating between shoving his hands in his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest.  He looks impatient and uncomfortable and Evgeni literally does not care.

“No, my seat,” Evgeni says, jerking his thumb back to his chest.  “Have ticket, seat 87C, is where I sit.”

“I make this trip twice a month and I always sit in the same seat, all the regulars know that.”  Sidney is holding up the line behind him, and the fact that he’s making a scene makes him even more visibly antsy.

“And I buy ticket long in advance, get this seat.  Want to see Horseshoe Curve, pick good window seat.  Not my fault you late to buy ticket.”  Evgeni shrugs, then goes back to ignoring Sidney in favor of digging in his bag for a pair of headphones.  That’s not such an easy task, though, since Sidney continues to loom over Evgeni’s seat.  

“But—”

“What?”

“You don’t understand, I always—”

Evgeni rolls his eyes, then interrupts him.  “Yes, yes, I understand.  I Russian, not stupid.  Everyone tell me, Sidney _always_ sit here.  Sidney so special and important, Sidney kick people out of seat.   _You_ not understand.  I buy ticket, Amtrak give me seat 87C.  No special rule in computer that say, only give this seat to Sidney Crosby, else he make fights with other passenger.  Not my fault Sidney too lazy, buy ticket much later than Evgeni.”

Sidney’s mouth opens and shuts, like he’s searching for words and coming up empty.  Meanwhile, the angry muttering behind him is getting louder, and people are starting to shove.  “Listen, my ticket’s for 87B, can’t we just switch?  Why is this such a big deal for you?” he finally spits out.  He’s got his ticket clutched in his hand and he’s waving it at Evgeni like that’s going to change anything.

“Well! Is Sidney Crosby’s lucky day! 87B wide open,” Evgeni exclaims, patting the seat next to him.  “Now sit, you in way of nice people.”  Evgeni leans up out of his seat and clamps one large hand around Sidney’s arm, hauling him down into the empty seat.  “Need seat belt buckled for you, too?” he asks, fishing out one end of Sidney’s seat belt and flopping it onto his lap.

Sidney looks like he has half a mind to argue with Evgeni, but thinks better of it.  “This is a terrible idea,” Sidney mutters to himself as he tries to get comfortable.  “When something awful happens to this train, you’ll see, it’ll be all your fault.”

Evgeni laughs, big and bright, and heads turn.   _Laughter_ isn’t usually what happens whenever someone challenges Sidney on his favorite seat.  “Nothing bad happen to train, Sidney, calm down,” he says, patting the other man on the shoulder.

*

Horseshoe Curve is everything that Evgeni had hoped it would be, a majestic loop of track nestled in the Alleghenies.  He peers out the window, craning his neck to watch the rest of the train behind him make the curve.  He’s too old to wave gleefully at the passengers in the back, who surely wouldn’t see him anyway, but the thought crosses his mind.

“You’re blocking the light,” Sidney grumbles, poking Evgeni in the back with the magazine he’d been flipping through.

“Shh, Sid,” Evgeni says, reaching back with one hand to try to grab the magazine.  “You ruining moment.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is, it’s just train tracks.”

At that, Evgeni turns to look back over his shoulder, fixing Sidney with a quizzical stare.  “But you take this train all the time. You ever even look out window of train, in your magic seat?”  Sidney’s lack of response tells him everything he needs to know.  Evgeni frowns, then moves to make enough room for Sidney, so he can see out the window, too. “Come here, look before curve finish.”  He nods at the window, but when Sidney doesn’t move, Evgeni just reaches back to loop his arm around Sidney’s waist to pull him forward.

“Look out window,” he commands, holding a squirming Sidney close.  “Look at-- at nature, and engineering marvel, historic landmark, yes?”  He stabs at the window with his finger and tightens his grip at Sidney’s waist, fingers digging into his hip bone.

“I don’t see what’s so great about -- oh, hey, you can see the back of the train! Hey, back of the train!” A smile crosses Sidney’s face as he realizes just how massive the curved track is.  He shuffles closer to Evgeni, the better to press himself up against the window; his head gets pressed up underneath Evgeni’s chin as he tries to chase sight of the train cars behind them. He should boot Sidney out now, back to his own seat, because this is too close for a pair of near-strangers, but Evgeni can’t stop himself, not with the way Sidney has squirmed his way into his space, and he lets his eyes close for just a moment as he enjoys the warmth of the other man against him.

Sidney tries to get closer to the window, and he reaches down to brace himself, only his hand lands, warm and solid, on Evgeni’s thigh.  Evgeni swears he feels Sidney’s fingers slide along his inseam, and that’s it, Sidney has to _move_ , because they still have hours to go until Evgeni has to transfer in Philadelphia, and this is not going to make the rest of the ride any easier.

“Alright, curve almost over, sit back down,” Evgeni says gruffly, shouldering Sidney back out of the way, into his own seat.

Sidney goes with a quiet _oof_ escaping his lips as he tumbles into the seat.  He looks curiously at Evgeni, lips parted like he’s about to say something, then shakes his head and looks down, back at the magazine he’d been flipping through earlier.

They’re quiet for a while; Evgeni sits straight and tall in his seat, thinking of long, frostbitten winters in Russia and his grandmother telling stories about the old days, anything to keep from thinking of Sidney Crosby, with his smirk and his floppy hair and his strong hands.

Eventually, Sidney’s elbow darts out and catches Evgeni lightly in the ribs.  “Thanks for showing me Horseshoe Curve,” he says quietly, not looking up from his magazine.

Evgeni just makes a neutral noise, but reaches out and pats Sidney’s knee lightly before drawing his hand back in.

*

Four hours into the trip, long after they’ve gone through Horseshoe Curve -- the only reason Evegni had demanded the window seat in the first place -- Evgeni realizes there’s a problem.  All the coffee from that morning is making its presence known, and suddenly. he’s very badly aware of the need to use the restroom.

Logically, he could give Sidney the seat now and save himself a lot of grief.  It shouldn’t be a big deal, but he’s also secretly appalled at the other passengers have allowed themselves to be terrorized by Sidney and his superstitions.  Evgeni doesn’t mind standing his ground, not in this case, so it’s an easy decision to keep Sidney in his own seat.

Evgeni stretches and starts to figure out how to get out of the seat.  He tries not to move too much, but of course Sidney notices.  “Giving me my seat now?” he asks, smile curling across his lips.

“Not on your life,” Evgeni says, smiling despite himself.  “Taking field trip, you come along.”  He starts nudging at Sidney’s shoulder, forcing him to get out of the seat.  When they’re both standing in the aisle, Evgeni reaches for his wallet.  “I go to restroom, you go to food car, get sandwiches.”  He folds up a few bills and presses them into Sidney’s hand.

“But I’m not hungry,” Sidney complains.

“Then get me two sandwiches, I don’t care, you just go.”  He reaches out to grasp Sidney’s shoulders, turning him in the direction of the dining car.

It takes longer than Evgeni had thought it would, but Sidney suddenly gets it.  “You’re just trying to keep me from taking back my seat while you’re gone,” he says as Evgeni starts to march him down the aisle.

“No,” Evgeni says, but there’s a chuckle in his voice that says that Sidney’s dead right. “This is about sandwiches, and you making self useful.”  He presses one hand to the small of Sidney’s back, just because he can, because Sidney’s letting him get away with it. “Also about me keeping seat,” he adds as an afterthought.  “But, sandwiches. No tuna, is gross.”

Sidney sighs, but starts to go willingly, shaking off Evgeni’s hands as they reach the door to the train car.  “Ugh, fine, I’ll get your sandwich, you lazy ass,” he mutters before pressing the door open and stepping through.

Evgeni finishes in the restroom long before Sidney comes back.  He’s already comfortably settled back in his seat when Sidney returns, dropping back down next to him.  “Here,” he says, handing a sandwich to Evgeni.  “Kind of thought I’d beat you back here, you know?”

“Food car really far away, Sid. What you think I do to keep me so long?” he asks, looking over at Sidney.  

To his credit, Sidney just smiles and shrugs his shoulders, then goes to unwrap his sandwich.

Evgeni matches his smile with one of his own.  “You awful, Sidney Crosby.”

*

Outside of Lancaster, the train grinds to an unscheduled stop.

Sidney bolts upright immediately.  He knows every mile of this trip, every place the train should and should not be stopping, and this is a big _should not._  He elbows Evgeni in the side, waking the other man up.

Evgeni pulls his headphones off and hangs them around his neck.  “What you want, Sidney?”

“Does it smell like smoke?  I think it smells like smoke.”  He leans into Evgeni’s seat, trying to look out the window.

“We stop, is no big deal. Get back in your own seat.”

“ _You’re_ in my seat,” Sidney hisses, elbowing Evgeni again.

“Hands to yourself,” Evgeni says, pressing his shoulder against Sidney’s chest to move him back into his own seat.  Sidney grumbles and flops back down.  “Stay on your own side, Sidney.”

*

“It’s been _three hours_ and we haven’t moved.”  Sidney’s been pacing up and down the length of the train car for a while, but now he’s back in his aisle, leaning into Evgeni’s space again to try to see out the window.  “If you’d just let me sit in _my_ seat…”

Evgeni’s given up on trying to keep Sidney out of his space; the guy squirms around like he’s a five year old, and it’s worse now that they’re stuck.  There’s not even anything good to look at outside the window, Evgeni’s finished his book, and if he keeps listening to music, he’s going to run down the battery on his phone.  Sad to say, the only thing keeping him amused is Sidney.

“Not your seat, Sidney,” Evgeni says patiently.  “You gonna make me move?”  He arches his eyebrows; it’s a challenge, and it’s a stupid one, because Sidney is getting desperate, and he just might take him up on it.

“ _Three hours_ , Geno,” Sidney repeats.  He’d given up on trying to pronounce Evgeni correctly about an hour outside of Pittsburgh and had settled on Geno instead.  Evgeni finds it odd, coming from the same man who spent twenty minutes reorganizing the contents of his bag because the weight wasn’t distributed correctly.  “Three hours we’ve been stuck out here.”

“Already miss connecting train, why it matter now?”

“It — it just _does_ , it’s always my seat, this train has always been on time when I’ve been in that seat.”  Sidney pitches forward more, resting one hand on the window pane.  His other hand is wrapped around Evgeni’s armrest as he tries to keep his balance.

“You already almost in my seat,” Evgeni points out.  Sidney apparently has no use for things like personal space when it comes to trying to steal back the seat that he believes belongs to him.  “Why your train magic not work, if you practically in special Sidney Crosby Only seat?”  

To make his point, Evgeni stretches out, taking up all the room that he should be rightfully be allowed to have in his seat.  Sidney suddenly has much less room, and when Evgeni’s hand covers his on the armrest, he flushes and nearly loses his balance.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes flicking away from Evgeni. “I just really—”

“Want to sit in this seat, yes, Sidney, I know.”

*

“ _Five hours_.”  Sidney has abandoned all pretense of caring about staying on his own side of the seat; he’s flipped up the armrest between his seat and Evgeni’s and is steadily crowding the other man up against the wall.  “You have the power to end this, Geno, just let me sit there.”

Evgeni is ignoring him, but not because he’s annoyed by Sidney.  In fact, he finds the other man’s innocent desperation to be somewhat endearing. As part of his effort to tune Sidney out, Evgeni is working on a crossword puzzle instead, but he’s terrible at it, and Sidney keeps interjecting with his thoughts.

“Eight down, it’s nascent, you spelled it wrong,” he points out, poking at Evgeni’s newspaper with his finger.  “And sixteen across, I don’t know what you wrote, but that’s not even a word, Geno.”

“You not helping, you being pest.”  Evgeni reaches out with his free hand and tries to swat him away.

Sidney ducks in under Evgeni’s outstretched arm.  They’re pressed close together as they fight for the newspaper.  “I’m giving you the answers, how is that not helping?”

“How I get better at writing English if Sidney Crosby give me answers?” Evgeni should pull his arm back, but he lets it settle around Sidney anyway.  It’s probably a terrible idea, but maybe it will keep him in place for a little while.

He’s only a little surprised whenever Sidney smiles and wriggles a little closer.  “I’ll stop helping if you give me back my seat.”

Evgeni clucks his tongue and smiles.  “So predictable.”  He drops his paper to his lap and reaches up to ruffle Sidney’s hair.  Every touch between them still feels too familiar, but they’ve been sharing the same space for more than twelve hours now, and Evgeni figures it can’t make things any worse.  

Sidney closes his eyes and leans into the touch, the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Interesting.

*

By hour seven of sitting in one place, Sidney’s anxiety has exhausted him enough that he falls asleep.  He starts out in his own seat, but it doesn’t take long for him to sway towards Evgeni, pressed up tight against his side.  Some of the regulars on the train slow down to give Evgeni pointed looks as they walk past; Evgeni just shrugs and holds one finger to his lips, holding off any questions.

Questions are going to wake Sidney up, and then Sidney is going to go right back to complaining about Evgeni ruining the train’s mojo.

Besides, Evgeni’s human, after all, and he’s not going to say no to that body and that face curled up against him.

Russian, not stupid, remember?

*

Hour eight rolls around, and Sidney and Evgeni are both asleep.  Evgeni’s arm has slipped off Sidney’s shoulders to hold firm around his waist, fingers just barely worked up underneath his shirt.  Sidney’s face is pressed against Evgeni’s shoulder and he’s mumbling in his sleep.  

Eventually, he shifts in his seat, and, only barely aware of what he’s doing, throws one leg over Evgeni’s, hooking his foot around the other man’s ankle.  He took his shoes off somewhere around hour two-and-a-half, and his toes are running up and down Evgeni’s calf.  If it’s a tactic to get Evgeni to cede his remaining space in the seat to Sidney, well, it’s working.

Sidney is almost — _almost_ — in the seat he’s been coveting for hours.

The train suddenly shudders to a start with a surprising burst of speed.

Sidney and Evgeni both pitch  forward; Evgeni slams his face off the seat in front of him.  “What the fuck,” he mutters, before pressing the heel of his hand to his nose and tipping his head back.

“We’re moving!” Sidney exclaims, suddenly wide awake.  He’s mostly in Evgeni’s seat now, their legs tangled together, and Sidney only inches from being in Evgeni’s lap.  “I’m in _my_ seat and the train is moving—”

“Coincidence, Sidney.” Evgeni pulls his hand away from his face.  Nothing’s bleeding, yet.  “Don’t you say it—”

But Sidney can’t be stopped.  He’s got his hands fisted in Evgeni’s shirt.  “I told you so!” he says, then laughs, an absurd giggle that doesn’t fit the intensity in his eyes.  “I told you that I needed—”

Evgeni literally cannot listen to one more second of Sidney talking about how important his seat is.  He rolls his eyes, hooks one arm around Sidney’s waist, and pulls him impossibly closer.  “Shut up, Sidney,” he says gently, then leans in and kisses him, slow and gentle.  

“Oh,” Sidney breathes when they pull apart, foreheads pressed together.  “Alright, I guess.” His smile is triumphant, though, before he darts in for another kiss, harder this time.

Sidney’s won, but Evgeni isn’t going to complain about his strange seat magic anymore.  They’re kissing, which Evgeni has wanted to do since they got through Horseshoe Curve, Sidney’s almost entirely in seat 87C, and the train is moving again. Not too bad, if he says so himself.

**Author's Note:**

> The train route that Sid and Geno are on is [the Pennsylvanian](http://anonym.to/?http://www.amtrak.com/pennsylvanian-train), a route that I took a few times in college, many years ago.
> 
> [Horseshoe Curve](http://anonym.to/?http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horseshoe_Curve_\(Pennsylvania\)) is a real thing, just outside of Altoona, PA; I spent most of the curve with my face pressed up against the windows like a giddy, oversized child. It is pretty badass.


End file.
